


Steam

by andrasste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Love/Friendship, PWP, Smut, Vaginal Sex, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrasste/pseuds/andrasste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elissa finds a hot spring grotto tucked away in a cave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steam

**Author's Note:**

> For 100 Days of DA. 
> 
> Follow me over on Tumblr (this username) for more shenanigans.

Elissa can feel the heat from the hot spring before she steps close to the water. There is steam rising from its surface, rippling slightly in the still air. After trudging up and down hills all day in heavy plate, the warmth just from the steam seeps into her aching muscles. Even the slight relief feels amazing.

Stumbling to the side of the pool is a monumental task, throwing off the light cloths he wears under her leathers like lifting heavy stones. But the moment she is completely submerged makes it more than worth it. Even the long day of hiking is rationalized, because she gets *this* at the end.

She will never complain aloud about her aches, will shoulder them all with the smallest grimace she can manage. Elissa isn't made for this, and even though she's trained herself to be strong enough to wear her armor, swing her great sword effortlessly, she still bears the strain of each fight they get into, the long treks and cold, cramped nights.  
It's only in moments such as this when she allows herself the weakness of wincing, biting down on her lip to keep any noise from escaping as the water eases her muscles out of the knots she's been working them into.

What's better is that this isn't a bath; the water won't cool. She can take as long as she wants without fear of having to scrub dirt from her body in freezing water. Elissa is used to a modicum of creature comfort, and after so long living like beasts the warmth of the everlasting bath is too alluring for her to rush in the name of dignity.

After just a few moments submerged in the water, Elissa feels boneless, wrung-out. Her skin is tingling pleasantly and it takes far too long to get her limbs to work, to reach over the edge of the small pool to grab her bar of soap. She stretches out the process of washing, scraping the dirt off her skin and out of her hair with methodical ease. It's been so long since she had a proper bath.

She’s leaning back against the edge of the tub, taking advantage of the small shelf that acts as a natural seat around the edge of the pool, when she hears footsteps from the grotto's entrance.

Elissa is instantly modest, turning to face the entrance and stepping back off the ledge so everything below her shoulders is hidden under the surface of the water. She is absolutely confident that her small group is alone in the caves they’ve chosen to bed down in for the night, so she hadn’t bothered to bring a weapon. It’s more likely to be one of her companions looking for her; she thought she’d made it away without anyone noticing, but that’s probably too much to ask for.

She relaxes instantly when it’s only Alistair that rounds the corner; he meets her eyes and gives her that ridiculous grin of his, the one that makes her heart beat double. “Oh, there you are.” 

Elissa tries to keep the smile off of her face. “I thought I was being sneaky.”

“My dear, I’ve never met anyone less sneaky,” he says, raising an eyebrow, and she can’t help it; she casts her gaze down and smiles, biting her lip. He advances to the edge of the pool, soft leather boots next to the pile of her clothes. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” 

“Mmm, you have got to try it,” she says, makes her way back over to the wall. She has the most ridiculous urge to curl inwards, keep herself hidden; it’s laughable, because Alistair has seen all of her. Never like this, though. Elissa has to fight the urge tooth and nail to keep her spine from bowing out and instead and leans back gently, head resting on the stone floor and breasts exposed to the air. 

A secret thrill races up her spine at the strangled sound he makes. 

She closes her eyes for a moment, flushed and smiling. There’s a soft thump and some rustling by her clothes; Elissa opens her eyes to slits and is rewarded by the sight of Alistair, ears bright pink, fumbling at all of his ties. If she were any more evil or perhaps less comfortable, she would climb up out of the pool and help him. Instead, she watches, smiling to herself as the bright pink of his ears spreads down his face and settles in the spread of his chest hair.   
She watches as he divests himself of his remaining clothing, as he slides into the water, and knows that she must be a similar pink color. They’ve yet to have this sort of privacy on the road, and though she’s felt all of him with her hands, with her skin, she’s never gotten to see like this. Her mouth is suddenly dry. 

Alistair groans as he settles into the water, the sound obscene enough to drive the breath from Elissa’s lungs. She raises her head and swallows past the desert that her throat has become. “C’mere,” she says, and her voice doesn’t sound like her own. She holds her arms out for him, indicating her intent. He happily complies, ducks his head under the water on his way across the small pool. 

When he comes up for air, he slots himself easily into her outstretched arms, plants his hands on the wall behind her and leans close, brushes her nose gently with his. “Hello,” he breathes, deep enough to have her flushing again, close enough that she can feel his breath on her lips. She grins and very carefully does not give in to the girlish giggle that’s threatening to break free, presses her forehead into his for a moment before she closes the distance between them, slants her head just enough that they fit together perfectly. 

One of his hands cups her face. Her fingers dance over his shoulders as their mouths move together; she can feel the knots in his muscles, the tightness of his shoulders. She makes an unhappy noise and pulls away. 

“Mmph?” he asks, and the desperate note in that single sound nearly has her giving in. But she knows that her own muscles were impossibly tight after their trek today, and he carries a shield besides his massive armor. 

“Turn around,” she whispers, reaching behind her for the bar of soap resting on the floor just alongside the water. 

He makes a confused noise but does as she asks. She immediately lathers her hands and slides them over his shoulders, leaving trails of bubbles in the wake of her hands. They come to rest on either side of his neck. Elissa pushes in with her thumbs, working at the muscles under her hands until she can feel them give way for her. 

The moan Alistair makes as his muscles unknot is downright filthy, and Elissa has to bite her own lip to keep from answering him. She moves her hands further down and across the expanse of his shoulders, leaning in every once and a while to kiss a particularly tempting freckle. 

As his shoulders slowly loosen he slumps against her, until her back is pressed to the hot spring’s wall and her breasts are pushed tight against the middle of his back. Her job finished, she wraps her arms around his neck and trails little kisses from the juncture of his shoulder up to the place just behind his ear that always makes him shudder. 

And shudder he does. She smiles against his skin, happy with the results of her work. Her hands dip to tangle in his chest hair, exalting in one of her favorite sensation in the world: the soft scratching over the calluses on her palms. She finds a nipple with one of her nails and his pleasure rumbles in his chest, head falling back to rest on her shoulder. Elissa happily takes the opportunity to suck a mark into the skin of his throat. 

She lets her hands wander lower, dipping below the water and over the flat of his stomach. A few teasing touches, glances of her fingers across his hips and through the light trail of hair beneath his navel, leave him whining at her. She chuckles against his neck and finally, finally wraps her hand around the length of him, heavy and hard and straining for attention. 

“Maker I want you,” she whispers, stroking him; his hips jerk into her grasp and she pulls her head back, watching the way his face contorts with his pleasure. 

Alistair groans and carefully turns in her arms, pressing her back against the wall and kissing the breath out of her as his hands descend below the surface of the water. Even with how long she’s been submerged in the heat, his fingers pressing into her folds are hot enough to make her hiss and roll her hips down, seeking more than just the light touch he’s torturing her with. His thumb flicks over her pearl even as he’s pushing another finger inside, and she arches, gasping loud enough that that sound echoes through the chamber. 

It’s his turn to chuckle, hiding his amusement in another kiss. She rolls her hips, bucking into his touch as he works his fingers, pushing them in and out of her in mimicry of what she wants. Her nails dig into his shoulders. Her release builds at the base of her spine, liquid heat gathering there. 

He presses his thumb fast and hard against the nub of her pleasure and her scream drowns in his kiss, hips bucking erratically against his hand. His fingers bring her to her peak and let her explode, clenching around them as she wails into his mouth, stars bursting behind her eyelids. 

When she opens her eyes, shuddering, he is watching her, smug. She grins, wraps her legs around his waist; with all of her strength, it still takes a few gentle, coaxing words before he’ll twist, her turn to press him into the wall. It takes every bit of self-control she possesses to tease him; there is a throb deep inside that will only be sated by one thing. Even the flow of water around her skin feels amazing, oversensitive as she is. 

Her hands wander again, scraping down his sides. He strokes her thighs and she works her hips, rubs herself gently just over the tip of him, gasping when his hips inch forward just enough to have her bucking hers in return. 

Suddenly, she can wait no longer, and she feels his hands tighten on her thighs in anticipation. She guides him to her core and bears down, gasping aloud at the stretch and slide of him. He answers with a rumbling moan of his own, and she pushes until he is fully sheathed inside of her. 

It takes them both a moment to adjust; he rests his forehead against her shoulder, mouth open as he gasps in air. She holds his neck with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder as she steadies herself, nose buried in his hair. A long moment passes, a flare of sensation, and then his hips twitch and she raises herself, slides back down immediately. 

The second pause is shorter; Elissa wiggles, finds purchase on the stone wall of the pool, and Alistair bends his knees to help her work. She moves in earnest then, sending ripples out to the rest of the pool as she repeatedly slides in and out of the water, droplets clinging to her skin for moments before she is submerged again. When she finds her balance, her rhythm, she reaches beneath the water to find one of his hands clenched tight enough to bruise around her thigh. She gently moves it, twines her fingers with his and they cling to each other like a lifeline.

Elissa closes her eyes, wraps the other arm around Alistair’s neck. She moves with force enough to send water sloshing over the sides of the pool, sparing no thought but for the rough glide of sensation, the force that leaves her gasping when he thrusts up as she bears down. 

“Please,” she groans, clenching around him. “Please please please.” Her words are little more than exhalations against his skin, the brush of her lips over his neck, his ear as she rides him. He moves their hands together, unwilling to uncurl them, maneuvers so he can rub fast and hard at her pearl under the water. She cries out, breaks their rhythm with smaller, more indelicate motions forward and down. 

Alistair moans out her name, paints is across her skin in bites and kisses. She throws her head back, writhes on him, clenches as she comes. Little whimpers spill into the air between them and her hips stutter, making small, forceful motions that she can’t help as she loses herself to it. 

He doesn’t stop where his fingers are moving, presses her close with a hand against the small of her back as she writhes, and finds the purchase to push up into her. Hard, fast half-thrusts, the sweet, brain-melting sensation of her clenching around him, and he latches on to the place where her neck meets shoulder, biting down as he spills inside of her. 

She continues moving for a few moments, hips rolling of their own volition as his jerk up, staccato flares of sensation in her gut that send the aftershocks trembling out to the tips of her fingers and her curled toes. 

When her orgasm fades, she is left a shaking mess. Her limbs feel like they’re made of water, refusing even to stay locked around his waist. She collapses into him, buries her face in his neck. He somehow finds the strength to hold her and they stay there for what feels like ages. 

Finally she stirs, presses a handful of open-mouthed kisses to whatever skin she can reach. “We should get back,” she whispers, voice hoarse.

“I love you,” is his answer, fingers stroking idly down her spine, and she laughs, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Me too, love,” she grins. “I just don’t want the others to come looking.” 

That gets him moving, a flush spreading down his cheeks. She presses one last kiss to the very tip of his nose, a motion that always makes him laugh, before she gets her limbs to cooperate, pushing up out of the pool and striding across to where their clothes are piled.


End file.
